


A Game of Chance

by TheLastLynx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Britpicked, Casino gambling, F/M, Flirting, Gambling, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Investigator!Hermione, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Build, Under Cover Investigation, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, White Collar Crime, casino - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/pseuds/TheLastLynx
Summary: Hermione barely registered Harry calling out after her, so when she rushed out, deep in thought, she smacked straight into the tall person standing just outside the door.‘Careful there, Granger,’ someone with a pleasant baritone said, chuckling under his breath. ‘No need to hit on me.’Hermione’s head snapped up. The pointy face of Draco Malfoy looked down on her, something like humour brightening his pale eyes. She raised her chin, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.’These past weeks, the London Muggle casinos have seen unprecedented losses. When Number 10 gets concerned and starts pressuring the Ministry of Magic, the D.M.L.E. tasks Hermione Granger with investigating the poshest of them all,Les Ambassadeurs.Is it all just an un-lucky streak or might be magic to blame? And why does she keep running into Draco bloody Malfoy at the most unfortunate of times?Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writers Birthday GoGo Fest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MykEsprit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/gifts).

> Massive alpha thanks go to LadyKenz and beta/britpicking credits to Lunamionny. Sorry for the delay. I've been rather self-conscious about this, but now I just want to gift MykEsprit her bloody fic because the image prompt was fantastic! Despite everything, I had a lot fun writing and researching this! x

A good dozen Ministry officials and visitors were crammed in the tight space, their heads lowered.

‘_Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services. _’ 

The lift jerked to a halt, and they wobbled dangerously. The metal doors rattled open, and out zoomed a scarlet-clad witch, down the sunlit corridor, maroon curls flying wildly and a flock of memos following in her trail. Her fingers were tightly gripped around a Ministry note. Someone called out behind her.

Numerous oak doors blurred in her peripheral vision as Hermione Granger hurried towards her destination. Her mind was spinning with an ever-worsening spectrum of catastrophes that could have prompted the summons which had — not three minutes ago — sailed into her hands just as she was finishing a case in her old department. 

_ Meet at my office. Urgent. _

_ Harry _

She was so caught up in her worries that it took her a second to realise that the person shouting was, in fact, calling her name. There was the heavy staccato of running feet before a hand on her shoulder jerked her to a halt.

‘_Hermione! Wait! _’ 

She spun around, a ‘Sorry, in a hurry’ on the tip of her tongue, when she realised who it was.

‘Harry!’ 

‘In a bit of a hurry, eh?’ There he was in the flesh, grinning at her like a fool. 

‘Cheeky!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘You knew I busy with the house-elf case downstairs!’ Harry grinned even wider, and she couldn’t help but smile too. ‘Oh, stop it, you!’ She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Here I was, imagining the worst, or that at least a troll was on the loose when actually, you’re just bossing around your underlings for the fun of it!’ 

‘Me? Bossing you around? _ Never _!’ Harry chuckled and threw his right arm around her shoulders, tucking the roll of papers he was carrying under his left. Together they continued down the corridors of the D.M.L.E. 

‘You’re lucky we were already finished. Otherwise, this would have been an excellent opportunity to put one of those hexes the Unspeakables have been experimenting on to use.’ 

Harry laughed but didn’t say anything further, and Hermione scrutinised his appearance. Though he seemed his usual cheery self, the tell-tale crinkles around his eyes and his rigid posture betrayed the worries he as the seasoned head Auror had to deal with on a regular basis. ‘And where have you been then? Visiting your fan club?’

The lights from the windows flickered across his furrowed brows, and his smiling lips pressed together almost unnoticeably. ‘I was with Kingsley, actually. He told me to get you.’ 

‘Oh?’

Harry covertly glanced at the opened office doors they were passing. One of the Hit Wizards was giving his assistant a dressing down for misplacing a document, while his colleagues pretended not to eavesdrop. 

‘Let’s go to my office,’ Harry said quietly, ‘and I’ll fill you in.’

They soon found themselves in the busy and crowded Auror Headquarters. There were towering stacks of paper swaying dangerously on the desks, steadily growing from the memos landing on top and unfolding. Two Aurors with their wands in hands were arranging and rearranging notes and photographs on a wall. A pair of Unspeakables were deep in discussion with one of the senior Aurors, a fierce-looking, curly-haired woman. 

Harry nodded at them in passing before halting at the far end of the wide office space in front of a set of heavy oak doors. A shiny copper plaque was attached to the wall next to the grand entrance: _ Harry Potter, Head Auror _. With a wave of his wand, the doors opened. As soon as they had stepped over the threshold, both doors swung shut without instruction, the locks clicking loudly.

Harry threw the papers he had been carrying onto his desk. With a heavy thump, they landed on an already considerable stack of Muggle newspapers. On the top was today’s edition of _ The Sun _. 

**_FOUL PLAY? MAYFAIR CASINOS CONTINUE TO BLEED MONEY._ **

Countless other headlines peeking out underneath were all dedicated to the same problem. Hermione tilted her head. She could make out “_ **Twenty Million Lost In A Single Weekend** _ _,_” and _ “ _ ** _Massive Winning Streak Hurts Mayfair Casinos_ **.” She frowned. She was vaguely aware that the Muggle tabloids had been obsessed with this story for the last couple of weeks. What she was not aware of was that this had anything to do with the D.M.L.E.

‘Please tell me this isn’t our problem now.’ 

Harry sighed in frustration. ‘We’re starting to get pressure from the higher-ups. It’s not only a couple of high-ranking Tories who are affected anymore. The Prime Minister himself is getting pretty nervous about it.’ Hermione raised her eyebrows. ‘Apparently, they’re all financially involved somehow. Kingsley just “informed” me that we have to get involved because—’ He pulled a face, ‘“—at this point we can’t be certain that magic _ is not _responsible”,’ he said in an imitation of Kingley’s voice.

‘So because rich people are losing a bit of money, we’re supposed to drop everything and spend time and ministry resources? Ridiculous!’ Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms.

‘I know, I know.’ Harry sank into his chair and started massaging his temples. ‘Turns out, having a Prime Minister who actually embraces the magical world does come with certain disadvantages.’ He grimaced. ‘The thing is though, the situation seems to be getting worse.’ He nodded at the stack of newspapers. ‘They might have a point, it does all seem a bit fishy. So we just have to make sure that nothing untoward is happening.’

Hermione glanced miserably at the collection of tabloids. Some were chronicling the scandal, while the more serious papers analysed why the ongoing losing streak of London’s premier casinos was, apparently, an economic disaster for the entire country. 

‘At least Rupert Murdoch is making money, right?’ she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She looked up and realised Harry was regarding the newspaper coverage with a dark expression. ‘You’re right, though. It just—’ She bit her lip. ‘Never mind. If there’s a wrong, we should be there to right it.’ She sighed and settled into the guest chair.

Harry sighed audibly and gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I knew you’d understand!’ 

‘So, what’s all this got to do with me? I’m not here as your best friend, surely?’ 

‘Um, no.’ Harry started rummaging noisily through his desk drawers; objects clanked against the wood, and parchments rustled. ‘Assuming someone is somehow using magic to extort money, we’ll have to send someone in undercover. We don't want to deploy too much manpower— _ womanpower _ — on this because…’ He nodded towards the Auror Headquarters outside. ‘This entire mission is more of a way of… placating Downing Street. If a witch or wizard really is behind this, we can’t bring in too many people anyway. So Kingsley—’ Harry raised an eyebrow— ‘ _ “suggested _” I should find someone who’s smart, resourceful, and can blend in with Muggles flawlessly.’ He cautiously glanced up at her and then resumed digging through his desk drawers.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘That’s specific.’ 

Harry snorted. The rummaging stopped, and he pulled out a tiny leather pouch. With a tap of his wand, it grew and grew until it was about the size of his forearm. He unzipped it and revealed a collection of phials containing various potions in different colours. 

‘I know you prefer to investigate other—’ he hesitated and shifted in his seat, ‘—matters, but you’re the best woman for the case.’ 

‘And probably the only Muggle-born with enough security clearance to be seriously considered,’ she said drily.

Harry ruffled his hair. Hermione noticed a couple of silver strands in-between the black. ‘Kingsley had to promise Downing Street to send our best agent for the task. That's what you are.’ Next to the pouch, he laid out an invisibility cloak and Peruvian instant-darkness powder, as well as a couple of other objects the D.M.L.E. used as standard equipment for undercover investigations. Lastly, he rolled out a long parchment covered in emerald-green ink. ‘We’ve already been monitoring Mayfair but we couldn’t detect the use of magic.’ 

Hermione tilted her head to the side. ‘Which only goes to say that they aren’t using a wand,’ she said, eyeing all the utensils with curiosity. 

‘Precisely.’ He pointed at a couple of entries on the parchment. ‘All the casinos involved so far have taken significantly larger losses than usual — most of the Mayfair places and a few of the more common high-roller places like the Hippodrome or the Ritz Club. Your job will be to determine whether or not there’s even a hint of foul play.’ 

‘That means I’ll have to go in disguise, doesn’t it? I’ll have to dress up for the Mayfair casinos?’ Hermione wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms. 

Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re probably the only person to complain that they’re required to wear a fancy dress to work. But yes; you’ll have to fit in.’

Pursing her lips, Hermione inspected every item on the table. The Peruvian instant darkness powder was the darkest black _ WWW _ had managed to achieve and had been developed exclusively for their department. The invisibility cloak was similarly new and its magic did last a lot longer than that of earlier models. Finally, she reached out for the potions kit. ‘What’s this?’

‘Ah.’ Harry shoved the pouch towards her. ‘Everything you’ll need to avoid wandwork in front of Muggles.’ He pointed at the various phials. ‘Veritaserum, Confusion Concoction, a patented essence of Gringotts’s Thief’s Downfall—’

  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

‘Don’t ask.’ Harry looked sheepish. ‘You were right, of course. The Ministry should have implemented goblin representation ages ago…’ 

Hermione snorted. She still remembered her precise wording when she had first laid out all the advantages of including Goblins into the Wizengamot almost a decade ago, as well as the less than favourable reaction of the committee. How the tables had turned...

‘Yes, err, right…’ Harry scratched his chin. ‘That’s Draught of Peace, and finally, Pepper-up and Sober-up Potion.’ 

Hermione raised an eyebrow, smirking. ‘Sober-up potion?’

‘You know how these places are. Just keep drinking and you'll fit right in.’

Hermione laughed. She sifted through the items laid out on the desk. ‘What about protocol?’ She asked, opening one of the phials to sniff its contents. The pungent odour of rotten eggs assaulted her nose. Why did Sober-up Potion have to be quite so horrid? ‘If I find our suspect, am I supposed to bring them in—’ she held up another phial, ‘— by using Draught of Peace?’ 

Harry looked at her strangely. ‘Honestly, do whatever you think is best without the Muggles noticing. We really want to avoid having to use the Memory Alteration Squad. I’m still drowning in the paperwork from the Exeter operation…’ Harry rubbed his face. Poor Harry; he really did look exhausted. ‘Finding the person or persons responsible is our primary objective. The quicker, the better. If you can manage that without causing a ruckus, nobody will look too closely at how you did it.’

Hermione nodded. They discussed the details — which Aurors would be on duty if she did need a back-up for example, but mostly what Scotland Yard had established after several weeks of investigations. A heavy file contained all their results, as well as the sources provided by the casinos themselves. Since they were members-only clubs, there was an abundance of information available. There were lists of names and faces identifying the players and croupiers of any given night, including their backgrounds and schedules, as well as hours upon hours of CCTV footage. 

The odd thing was that the videos only confirmed that no suspect appeared twice, and, even more curiously, that it wasn’t actually one person who got away with a small fortune, but rather a group of ever-varying people who cashed their winnings and left. 

Harry grimaced. ‘It’s a bloody nuisance. We’ve checked the member lists. None of those in question have a magical background, not even through an estranged aunt or a second cousin. It would seem like it was an arbitrary group of strangers that just gets extremely lucky — if it wasn’t happening all the bloody time.’ 

‘That really is odd.’ Hermione frowned. She had to admit that all of this was too improbable to be considered a coincidence. On the other hand, why would anyone risk getting caught? And considering the incredible losses the casinos were making, the authorities had to get involved at some point.

Hermione frowned. ‘I wonder what they would need that much money for…’ Her voice trailed off.

Harry shrugged and scratched his chin, his nails scraping audibly over the five-o’clock shadow. ‘At least, we have some semblance of where he — or they, for that matter — are likely to strike again. Les Ambassadeurs seems our most promising guess.’

‘It had to be the poshest of the bunch, didn’t it?’

‘We have to follow the money, Hermione.’ 

Hermione pursed her lips and, once again, scanned the collection of items on the desk. ‘I’m guessing there are funds for me to spend irresponsibly?’

Harry looked sheepish. ‘Well… yes— you see, it's important to keep cover, and we've already been spared the considerable membership fee—’

Hermione sighed. ‘Hand it over then.’ Harry pulled a thick folder out of the insides of his robes and pushed it towards her. She opened it. To her dismay, she found several neat stacks of thousand-pound notes.

‘Just—,’ Harry eyed her with trepidation. 

She glared back at him. ‘Of course, I’ll be sensible about it!’ 

‘Right.’ He chuckled nervously. ‘Any further questions?’ She shook her head no. ‘Right.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘So, um, the only thing left is to wish you good luck, I suppose.’ 

Hermione snorted. ‘I hardly think I'll need it. This all sounds simple enough: find out if a witch or wizard is responsible, and if they are, bring them in.’ 

They both stood and Hermione gathered up the objects. She shrunk each of them with a tap of her wand and tucked them away into her robes. They hugged. As they pulled away, Harry considered her seriously.

‘Don’t worry; I'll keep you posted,’ she said, squeezing his hand. 

With a wave and a smile, she made for the door. Her mental cogs were already spinning with several strategies and angles with which to approach the curious case of the casinos’ losing streak, and she barely registered Harry calling out after her to let in someone he was apparently waiting for. So when she rushed out, deep in thought, she smacked straight into the tall person standing just outside the door.

‘Careful there, Granger,’ someone with a pleasant baritone said, chuckling under his breath. ‘No need to hit on me.’ 

Hermione’s head snapped up. The pointy face of Draco Malfoy looked down on her, something like humour brightening his pale eyes. She raised her chin, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.’ 

His lips quirked up and he was about to make a retort when Harry appeared in the doorway. ‘Ah, yes, Malfoy. I thought that was you. Come in.’

Draco smirked roguishly at her as he carefully guided her aside with one hand, a roll of parchment tucked under his right arm. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the closing door, cursing herself for not coming up with a better comeback. ‘Of all the rotten luck.’ Head held high, she stalked away, the scent of bergamot and pine following her, and a disconcerting tingling sensation on her skin where his fingers had grazed her arm.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, the job turned out to be anything _ but _simple. 

After a meticulous analysis of the material provided by the clubs and the Yard, Hermione gathered that it was the roulette tables where most of the money was lost, usually during the night hours. What she failed to establish, however, was a pattern; whether it was a specific roulette table (there were several in various gambling rooms), a particular time of night, or a certain croupier that was targeted remained utterly unclear. For all intents and purposes, the wins seemed to be happening perfectly by chance — if it weren’t for the simple fact that, against all odds, the casinos were on a five-week-long losing streak.

Hermione spent all of Monday sifting through the provided material, struggling to compile a list of suspects. 

'You look like you’re enjoying yourself.’

‘Go away, Harry.’ Files, lists and photos lay scattered all around her, and she was buried nose-deep in a large parchment covered with a good fifty names, highlighted in seven sets of colours. ‘I’m establishing a pattern by cross-referencing the winners. You interrupting me is not helping.’ 

‘Yes,’ he chuckled, ‘I always find that tracking down a suspect from the desk chair is a dead-sure way to catch the guy. Any luck?’

‘Go away or I’ll hex you.’

Harry laughed. ‘You can’t avoid it forever, you know? Wearing a dress can’t be _ that _awful, surely?’

Without looking up, Hermione muttered something under her breath and pointed her wand at him. Harry jumped into the air. ‘Ow—hey!’

For a brief moment, Hermione glimpsed at him. In spite of her foul mood, she grinned. Harry was now wearing a lovely red polka-dot dress, his hairy legs adorned with dainty white socks and strap shoes that made him look like a ridiculous combination of Little Red Riding Hood and the big bad wolf. 

‘Wearing a dress can’t be that awful,’ she retorted and, smirking, returned her attention to her references and patterns.

Harry stomped out of her office in a flurry of colourful swear words. He had managed to restore his robes, but they were now adorably patterned with red and white spots…

* * *

By noon on Tuesday, when she was still no closer to an approximation of a list of suspects, Hermione reluctantly admitted that field research could no longer be postponed. Which is why, by Tuesday evening, she found herself in one of those flagitiously comfortable leather armchairs of “Les A.” 

“Les A” was the obnoxious, pseudo-casual nickname the rich and chinless had given_ Les Ambassadeurs, _ and perfectly summarised why Hermione detested everything about her current situation. She swallowed her disdain with the help of one stiff drink after another. 

She had to admit that, for once, the Ministry had shown foresight with the selection of accoutrements; thanks to the Sober-up potion, her investigation did not have to suffer. Other than that, Hermione was pretty confident about her approach. She had Transfigured herself into her polar-opposite: she appeared to be a Valkyrian beauty, blonde and tall with ice-blue eyes which blended seamlessly into the audience that frequented the casino. 

After several long — and in Hermione’s mind fruitless — hours spent in the surprisingly crowded (considering it was a weekday) casino rooms, she escaped to the outside gambling patio. Cursing the general pointlessness of the whole sordid operation, she made her way to the hanging garden. 

She breathed in the clear air of the late spring evening. Watching hundreds of thousands of pounds being thrown around for the mere fun of it was simply too much for her. Her suspicion that the entire operation would be a total waste of time seemed to be justified, and though Hermione generally enjoyed being right, at this point, she just felt incredibly annoyed. The fifty-thousand pounds the Ministry had equipped her with would have been far better spent on the _ House-Elf re-Location Programme _ (H.E.L.P.) or the _ Charitable Organisation and National Fund for Equality and Security for Squibs _ (C.O.N.F.E.S.S.) instead of this utterly infuriating, wasteful way of creeping up Number 10’s arse—

Just then, sudden cajoling and hollering drew her to the outside gambling area: the players of all six roulette tables had gone into one massive simultaneous winning streak, which soon resulted in a dizzying display of even more money and alcohol being thrown about. 

For the rest of the night, Hermione observed the situation like a hawk. As time went by, she noticed that the roulette winning streak seemed to spread like a wildfire to the other games and tables, until it fizzled out just before four in the morning. 

Reluctantly, she had to admit that the episodes did seem a tiny bit odd. However, she could not make out what — or who — had started the whole thing, not even after reviewing her memories the next day. It still seemed highly questionable to her that magic was involved; after all, an ordinary explanation was far more likely. 

  
  


On Wednesday, a similar incident happened just after midnight. Once again, she was standing outside (this time transfigured into a leggy brunette) close to the six roulette tables in the outside gaming hall. It attracted so many punters that it was hard to pick up on any coordinated activity, even though this time around she managed to observe it all from the start. 

There were a couple of curious things she did notice though. Not all punters seemed equally as lucky, and not everyone cashed in their winnings afterwards. Those who did, however, made away with the healthy sum of almost one and a half million pounds. 

But again, not even her retrospective memory review detected anything helpful, nor any hint of magical influence. 

  
  


Thursday consisted of much of the same. Some time around one in the morning, a lucky streak spread from one of the roulette tables on the large gaming floor to the other games. Although she was perfectly seated to observe all of it — at the bar, reacquainting herself with her good friends gin and tonic — nothing stood out to her. 

The evening had already started dismally when she had to change her disguise, all because a middle-aged banker with a bald scalp you could’ve used as a mirror did not understand that the curvy dark-haired woman religiously observing the bets did not want to “just chat.” She did escape him, but in doing so she almost ran into a server balancing about ten crystal glasses and a bottle of Bollinger. When she returned to the room barely ten minutes later, the lucky streak was in full swing.

  
  


On Friday, Hermione was so frustrated by the lack of progress and the general pointlessness of the entire operation, that she started with the hard stuff far too early. That’s why, only a little later, she had to sprint to the lavatory to prevent the worst. 

She was so caught up berating herself for being both unprofessional and idiotic that, just before she reached the toilets, she almost smacked into a man in an expensive dress shirt. She very nearly dropped the phial with the Sober-up Potion. It remained intact, thank lord, though that was largely due to the gentleman who had prevented her fall by catching her around the waist. 

She barely made it into the bathroom on time. 

Sitting on the loo, her head still spinning, she waited for her wits to return. Something still felt off though; there was a faint smell of bergamot she couldn’t get rid of. It must have been because she had once again skipped supper because of work. An Earl Grey and biscuits were probably just the thing to get her on track again. She returned to a cheering gaming floor, only to discover that the lucky streak had already started. Grumbling, she skipped the snack to focus on her observations. It was no surprise that they relayed very little.

  
  


When Hermione appeared for her weekly report in Harry’s office on Monday morning, she unloaded her frustrations. 

‘D’you reckon it’s all just a coincidence, then?’ Harry leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. It was barely half nine, and he already looked like he had just completed a fifteen-hour shift. Then again, he probably had...

‘I don’t know!’ She threw her hands up in the air and stomped through the office. ‘Nothing is making any sense. At all! It’s a disaster. It’s just like the report says, everything’s perfectly ordinary, until it isn’t.’ She fell back into her chair. Harry hid his mouth behind folded hands. The bastard was smirking. She bristled. 'On top of it, the people are just insufferable! _ Insufferable! _’ 

‘Give yourself a break, you’ve only just spent a week on it. At least you’re having a good time,’ said Harry, unable to contain his grin.

It was then that Hermione exploded. She started ranting about the waste of time that was this entire operation, the shameful behaviour of the upper classes in general, the entitlement of men in particular, and the audacity of the Prime Minister to boss around their government because of entitlement and mammonism.

Harry was only able to circumvent a tirade on the nature of the sovereignty of states by helping her sift through her recent memories and the CCTV footage. They confirmed her suspicions about the roulette tables, but what they did not detect was a suspect, let alone a _ single _ clue as to who could be behind it all, _ or _if magic was involved. 

Despite that, Hermione left Harry’s office decidedly less miserable and tentatively hopeful. He was right, she had spent barely a week on the case, as opposed to the four weeks the Yard had been busy with it. She just needed a new plan. She stepped into the lift, pondering how to approach things differently.

‘Why the frown, Granger?’ 

She spun around, searching for the owner of the voice amongst the small group of Ministry staff. Of all the rotten luck. Once again, she found herself in the presence of one Draco Malfoy. He was casually leaning against the wall as if he owned the bloody place, his pale hair shining in the dim lighting like a _ Lumos _charm.

‘I am not. And it’s Hermione, or _ Ms _Granger, if you prefer to be formal.’

He stepped closer, his bright eyes burning into hers with an intensity that made her heart race. Slowly, his lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. He was so close that she could smell traces of lavender and lime on his skin. Hermione noticed that the grey of his eyes had darker and lighter patterns running through them that made them look like Carrara marble. 

‘Formal? No, I certainly don’t want formal.’ 

The softness of his voice made her shiver. Abruptly, she took a step back and held the folder she was carrying protectively in front of her chest, as if it would mute the noise her ill-behaved heart was making. She looked around. The other people hadn’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

‘There’s nothing wrong with either name,’ she said and raised her chin defiantly.

‘Of course not,’ he said and _ smiled _ — Draco Malfoy actually smiled at her. ‘I just _ like _Granger. It suits you.’ 

The bastard didn’t elaborate and just smiled a bit more. Why was he behaving so _ strangely _?

‘What do you mean by that,’ Hermione closed the distance between them again, eyeing him, ‘“it suits me”?’ She put one hand on her hip, the folder tucked under her arm.

He chuckled. ‘No offence, Gr— _ Hermione _ .’ He looked up, as though he was thinking very hard about something. A flock of memos was hovering above their heads. Hermione steadied herself for the snide remark that, surely, was about to come. ‘Why do I like Granger…’ he mused, ‘that’s a _ very _ interesting question. Hermione is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. It’s exotic and unusual and sounds exceptionally intelligent — which is befitting you.’ His eyes found hers, and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘But everyone calls you Hermione. I’m the only one who calls you Granger.’

If it weren’t for the out-of-control thumping in her throat, Hermione would’ve thought that she was dreaming. It certainly felt unreal; her legs were wobbly, her brain fuzzy and her tongue heavy. She seemed wholly unable to form any sort of intelligible response.

With a jerk, the lift came to a halt, propelling her forward and into the arms of Draco Malfoy.

‘Oh god, so sorry’ she managed, embarrassed, peeling herself from the firmness of his chest. As her fingers inevitably skirted along his body, her mind immediately conjured images of the _ Torso of Belvedere;_ pale, sculpted, and very, very naked.

‘That’s quite alright,’ he said roughly, his hands riding along her arms to steady her. The hairs on her neck prickled as she shivered in response. 

A stream of witches and warlocks poured into the lift, essentially pushing both of them to the back. 

‘Well, thank you,’ Hermione managed finally, a little breathless, after the lift had jerked into action again and she was certain that this time she was on good footing. ‘That was probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me yet.’

Malfoy snorted. ‘What a perfectly polite way of saying that I‘ve been an absolute shit to you. But it _ was _a rather nice compliment, wasn’t it?’ He considered the memos again, lips quivering slightly. Inadvertently, Hermione laughed and caught his gaze. His eyes were polished marble. ‘Although, I doubt I can make up seven years of horrid behaviour with a couple of nice words,’ he said finally.

Hermione lifted her chin, pressing her lips together to keep herself from smiling. ‘I suppose you’ll just have to keep trying to find out, _ Malfoy _.’

The lift stopped and he left, smirking and never breaking eye contact, even as the doors closed. Grinning despite herself, Hermione continued on, light-headed and completely befuddled about what on earth had just transpired.

* * *

The next few days seemed a little better. Even though Hermione still didn’t know what exactly was happening, she was now fairly convinced that magic had to be involved. The pattern was simply too similar to be a coincidence: at some point during the evening or night, a winning streak started at one of the Roulette tables, and an arbitrary number of people would win tiny fortunes. Another minuscule success was that Hermione started to recognise the regulars.

Wednesday night turned out to be interesting. After the winning streak, Hermione tailed a promising suspect from Mayfair all the way to Richmond. The man, whom she recognised from the week before, had won almost one and a half million pounds after just six rounds of roulette. One infuriatingly expensive cab ride later, she had to concede that, unfortunately, he was a Muggle — when he opened the front door to his townhouse just around the corner from Kew Gardens, a fact the Ministry records confirmed the next day. Sadly, that remained the highlight of the week.

  
  


The weekend found Hermione exhausted and, once again, annoyed, partly at her own ineptitude, but also because she was running out of evening gowns. After ranting at Ginny about it for the better part of an hour, she gladly accepted her company for a trip to Diagon Alley. It was a good thing she did, because without Ginny, she probably would’ve fallen asleep in the changing room. 

She remained stubborn, however, on the issue of her work schedule, and was absolutely unwilling to consider that her nightly endeavours might be taking a toll on her. 

‘You've been working day and night. Have you even slept for more than four and a half hours a day?” Ginny demanded, after they’d returned from their shopping trip. 

‘Look,’ Hermione explained from the sofa. Her legs were tucked underneath her and she had just set down a book on her lap. ‘I’m spending the weekend at home, aren’t I? So no need to worry about it.’

‘Don’t start with me, Hermione Jean Granger!’ Ginny snapped. She pointed at the folders and parchments that were spread over every available surface of Hermione’s flat, a situation which had forced them to eat their post-shopping take-away on little islands peeking out from the mess. ‘If your working hours are “fine” because they are less than twenty a day, they are most certainly are not "fine"!’

They eventually stopped arguing, but only after Ginny threatened to set everything on fire. Hermione conceded to watching a silly game show instead of resuming her work. She fell asleep before Rob Brydon had even managed to introduce all the panellists.

* * *

As week three commenced, Hermione was still convinced she was on top of it and resolutely declined Harry's offer to help. She only budged when he threatened to tell Ginny. 

But even with Harry’s help, the only thing that the Pensieve brought about was the underwhelming realisation that the winning streak was celebrated with rounds of Champagne. Everything else, the regulars or the throwing around of money that got more extreme as the hours advanced and the drinking increased, she already knew.

Hermione was so exhausted from the hour-long sessions of memory analysis and cross-referencing with her notes that she stumbled out of Harry’s office and right into the arms of Draco Malfoy. Again. The stack of parchments in her arms sailed to the floor and unrolled. A flowery curse escaped her.

‘Now, this is a nice surprise.’ He grinned down at her. 

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She stared miserably at the mess at her feet. 

‘A “hello” would've been nice, too, you know,’ he said as Hermione abruptly crouched down to gather up the files. ‘Or an apology, if you, you know, felt exceptionally reckless. I’m bound to end up black and blue if you keep smacking into me like this.’

She mumbled something under her breath and attempted to collect her wits and her parchments as gracefully as possible.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Malfoy bent down and reached over to gather up some of the stray parchments. His hand brushed her fingers.

‘No!’ she cried, and instantly cringed at the volume of her own voice. ‘Sorry! I mean, no, thank you. I've got it, thanks.’ She stood swiftly, swaying slightly. ‘_ Accio parchments _.’ The papers fluttered into her arms and she scanned the floor for anything she had missed, dutifully ignoring how his eyes lingered on her face. ‘Thanks again, Malfoy,’ she said to his brogues and fled down the corridor. Remembering her manners, she abruptly froze and turned around. ‘Sorry for, er, running into you.’ She tried to avoid it but they accidentally, inevitably, locked gazes. His marble eyes were alight with amusement. 

‘Not a problem, Granger. I don't mind running into you at all.’ His lips curled into a smirk. ‘But just so you know, if you wanted to ask me out, you could’ve just said so.’ 

Then the scoundrel actually _ winked _ at her and swaggered into Harry's office as if nothing remarkable had happened, leaving an extraordinarily befuddled Hermione standing in the corridor, wooden arms full of parchment, and head spinning with thoughts about this odd-behaving Malfoy and half-baked plans about her foray into _ Les Ambassadeurs _later that night. 

Maybe Ginny was right after all. She probably needed more sleep.

* * *

‘What's Malfoy doing for you, Harry?’ Hermione asked as they sat together in his office on Friday, reviewing her findings of the previous night.

Harry was bowed low over the pictures the CCTV footage _ Les Ambassadeurs _ had provided them with; it showed all the very different people that had made big wins this week.

‘He's one of our potions consultants,’ he said absent-mindedly, without looking up. ‘He helps with another case I'm working on.’

‘Ah.’ 

‘Why are you asking?’ Abruptly, Harry lifted his head and eyed Hermione. ‘He hasn’t been horrible to you, has he?’ 

‘Hm? Oh no, not at all. He just seems a bit…’ She frowned, unsure of how to summarise the mystery that was Draco Malfoy. ‘Odd.’

‘Odd? Odd _ how _?’

‘It's probably nothing. Forget I said anything.’ Hermione pretended not to notice Harry's lingering, scrutinising gaze and focused instead on one of the pictures. It showed the face of a middle-aged man in a smart dinner jacket gesticulating for the server; early the previous evening, he had thrown a round of shots after making a staggering amount of money. She sighed deeply. ‘Let’s take another look at the list of winners. We must be missing something.’

  
  


By the time the end of _Semaine Six _of _Le_ _grand casino debacle_ rolled around (which was how the yellow press had dubbed it in fake French), Hermione was running out of ideas.

‘You’re being too hard on yourself,’ Harry said, looking at her worriedly when she slumped into her chair. 

‘I’m really not!’ Hermione cried indignantly and sat up straight. ‘The longer this investigation takes, the more Ministry money is being spent on ridiculous things like overpriced drinks, while other departments such as the Creature Rights Division lack basic endowment—’ she gesticulated wildly, hair flying in all directions, ‘—on top of it, I’m drowning in ridiculously frilly dresses I will not _ want _to wear or even look at ever again.’

Harry starting laughing heartily. 

‘Stop it!’ Hermione cried, scandalised. ‘This isn't funny!’

‘It is a little.’ He coughed, slowly getting his outburst under control. Hermione grimaced. ‘But I do get your point.’ 

For a long moment, they both considered the abundance of material spread out in front of them. Finally, Harry broke the silence. ‘We need to get closer to the action. It’s time that you went in for a gamble. I know you won’t like it, but you—’

‘Yes.’ Hermione pursed her lips, looking extremely miserable. ‘I know. I need to change my approach.’ 

They studied the pictures of the groups of people gathered around the roulette table. One showed the man in a dinner jacket and two ladies that had just made a huge win; another focused on an elderly lady wearing an obscene amount of pearls, and a fashionable middle-aged couple shouting in excitement, surrounded by a considerable group of curious onlookers. Between them, they had taken home close to two million pounds the night before.

‘I think it's a one-man job,’ Harry finally said, eyes lingering on the faces of the winners. 

‘I agree,’ Hermione replied, frowning. ‘Somebody's using the Muggles to hide the fact they’re scamming the place. I thought it would be easy because it's members-only, but it's almost the opposite.’ She shuffled through the pictures, considering the multitude of faces, young and old, but all similarly excited or surprised. ‘That we know of,’ she added, after a second.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, strands sticking in all directions. ‘It drives me barmy that we still don't know how they're doing it.’ 

Hermione stuck her wand into the swirling mass of white in the Pensieve on the table. The face of a woman laughing and throwing herself at a tanned man, who was gloating in the moment of his big win, materialised on the surface. It swirled and the image of the old woman with the heavy pearl necklace, gulping down the contents of a champagne glass, formed.

Hermione sighed. ‘I think you were right after all. There is just no logical explanation for what’s happening. That only leaves magic as being the decisive factor.’

They continued to sift through the evidence, trying, again, to sort out any pattern between the casino’s reports and Hermione’s observations. By going through her memories, they were able to isolate the winners and observe their quirks and habits and then cross-reference that information with the background info _ Les A _ had provided them. After a while, Harry glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I still have about an hour until I'm due at another meeting. Let's try and figure out the similarities between the nights.’

Hermione sighed. ‘Alright then. Oh, before I forget: have the goblins noted any suspicious activity in their money exchange rates?’

Harry grimaced. 'They haven't. It makes sense though; I can't believe our thief would go to all this trouble and then risk being caught in such an obvious way.’

Hermione thought so too, and they delved back into the tedious task of analysing her notes from the past nights. All the while, Hermione couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that, in order to achieve progress, she really ought to change her approach.


	3. Chapter 3

She was all in white today. A white-gold dress draped around her body like a toga, cut high on the front and low on the back, a perfect frame for the night-black tendrils that were etched like ornaments onto her skin. 

It should've made her appear virginal. 

To him, she looked the perfect temptation.

Draco angled his head to follow her movements in the mirror. Her shoulder blades shifted as she leaned forward to speak with the barman; the skin of her back shining like silk, an invitation to the room at large. 

His grip on his wine glass tightened as he drank. The port felt like velvet on his tongue, yet bitter and scratchy as it rolled down his throat. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the room for a server.

It was the first time that she'd worn such a seductive gown — or at least the first time since he’d first recognised her, four nights ago. He had arrived earlier than usual to _ Les A _ (he had to skip dinner at the Manor, again), and she'd been perfectly unassuming then, a dark-ish dress with strawberry-blonde hair. But the way she’d sat slumped over, studying the menu, he'd have recognised her anywhere. 

After that, he’d made sure to be punctual. She'd arrive every night at a quarter past eight, usually clad in something that was the textbook version of the _ Chanel _little black dress — modest yet elegant gowns of a usually darker palette; never anything that would garner much attention, which was entirely to be expected. Lurking in the background, she would stay until the Lucky Hour had ended and he would smuggle his way out the casino amongst the few who, like him, knew the golden rule of gambling.

Tonight though… tonight she took his breath away. 

Inevitably, she attracted the wrong sort. A middle-aged man in a store-bought dress shirt shuffled clumsily onto the stool next to her. Draco hid a grimace and turned his attention toward the game of roulette he was casually observing. He knew how it would go: the man would try to involve her in a conversation, she would remain polite but distant, he would get ever more persistent, she ever more desperate to be rid of him.

The croupier dropped the ball into the little spinning wheel. The ball rolled and rolled, and the wheel spun and spun and spun.

_ ‘No more bets, thank you!’ _

The small group of punters and bystanders clustered around the table, blocking his view of what was happening. The rhythmic clatter of the ball banging against the ridges that separated the numbers filled his ear. It was the tell-tale drumroll leading up to the deciding moment that defined incredible fortunes or desperate losses. 

The ball landed with a click. Still, the wheel spun round and round and round until —

‘Thirteen black.’

There was an overwhelming amount of groans, accompanied by the depressing clatter of chips being swept from the table and into the pockets of the casino. 

Draco followed the game with one ear and angled his head to observe the other spiel in the mirror; as predicted, the idiot was trying to chat her up. It was worse than he had imagined, the asinine drawl of the colonies penetrated his ears. He scowled. Granger’s whole demeanour screamed ‘kindly fuck off.’ Instead, the oblivious bastard scooted closer. Draco felt his hand twitch for his wand.

‘Change two-thousand.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he noted a massive man in an ill-fitting suit sweating heavily as the croupier handed him a new stack of chips. 

‘Money down.’

Draco knew a loser when he saw one, so he directed his attention back to the mirror. The American was apparently growing more desperate; his hand was slowly creeping across the counter towards Granger, who had barricaded herself behind crossed arms and legs. The wine glass felt cold and slippery between his fingers, which were aching for the wand magically hidden in the sleeve of his dinner jacket. He narrowed his eyes. Where was that bloody server? He stared across the room and made eye contact with a smartly dressed employee who jumped into action.

As he barked his order for a whiskey, he pondered the situation. Granger was a big girl; she could take care of herself. Actually, he should be _ glad _ that her attention was otherwise engaged. It was not as if he cared. Everyone knew that Hermione Granger could be stunning if she bothered to make an effort. He had not forgotten the Yule Ball, nor the countless Ministry functions and postwar festivities where she had strutted around the room like the Queen of fucking England. Besides, it would give him the freedom he needed to continue his game.

He crossed his legs and watched with dismay as an elderly lady in a maroon-coloured wig, covered in layers upon layers of cultured white pearls sitting over a ridiculous satin dress, squealed and almost scrambled over the table to grab her winnings. Some people simply weren’t made for big money. 

‘New dealer.’ A female croupier appeared behind her colleague at the roulette wheel. He showed his hands and stepped away from the table. The new croupier repeated the action and announced the new round.

On the other hand, he did feel an immense sense of satisfaction that Granger had gone through all that trouble just to lure him out. The thought of Hermione Granger spending hours upon hours grooming herself for him really did give him a kick. 

A casual glance into the mirrored columns killed the smirk on his face, however: Granger had lost the American but was now leaning into another pathetically average-looking chap. A red-head. Draco snapped his head back to the roulette table and ground his teeth. Of course, she would go for the Weasley look-alike. His nails scraped against the stem of the glass. It was beyond his understanding how someone with so much class had no appreciation for good breeding. 

The roulette ball landed with its ominous _ click _. There were a couple of exhausted sighs and significantly less excited chortles, and the croupier announced the next round.

Although — he took a sip from his drink and fixed his eyes on the players, who were now placing tentative bets — she had given Weasley the pass, hadn't she? And she was currently rather obsessively following _ him _, wasn't she? 

Draco narrowed his eyes and grinned smugly. He certainly couldn’t complain. He had expected the D.M.L.E. to send someone to investigate at some point, and having a beautiful witch hard on your heels was decidedly preferable to an old greasy dog following your scent. With disdain, he placed his tumbler back on the table. Shoving back the starched cuff of his pressed dress shirt, he checked his wristwatch. Almost midnight. He would have to hit the tables soon, but first, he would have to do… stuff. 

The roulette table was invaded by a group of young excitable people; three lads and two ladies. He smirked. Just what he was looking for. He drained his glass and straightened his cuffs. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could hit two birds with one stone. 

Maybe, Draco thought as he grinned devilishly, he would get lucky twice tonight. 

* * *

It was Friday again. This time, though, her eyes were trained on a man hovering around the roulette table; the smartly dressed man with black hair who she was sure was a wizard. 

She still couldn't believe that she had finally, actually, found him. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Even now, he was surrounded by a crowd of mostly female admirers. She grimaced into her Sidecar. Not only was he a cheat, he was a sleazy cheat. 

In hindsight, it was almost ridiculous how well her plan to lure him out had worked. Who would've thought that the mystery man was a James Bond-wannabe? Then again… well. 

It was the sense that someone was watching her that alerted her to his presence; that tingly feeling down her spine she got whenever she turned her back on the room, but especially when she was talking to other men. Soon enough, she had noticed the tiny but crucial details she had missed before.

Right now, he was chuckling at a joke one of his fans had made. He picked up his glass from the side table and took a healthy swig of his champagne.

Hermione frowned. The more she followed his every move, the more certain she became that she had actually seen him before. The way he postured and held his chin when he talked reminded her, in a strange way, of the blond man who had bought several rounds of drinks on Monday. But then, the way his head would tilt and his lips would curve reminded her of the knowing smirk the tanned man on Wednesday had shown when he had flirted with a group of young women. 

Hermione ripped into the napkin that was placed under her drink.

‘Another, madam?’ 

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said without sparing the server another glance. She barely noticed the replenished drink materialising in front of her just moments later, so much was her attention fixed on _ him _ . _ He _was violently flirting with the blonde woman and her friend. Their high-pitched, artificial laughter made Hermione want to claw at her ears; his smug grin made her want to hex him. The three blokes that had come with them seemed similarly inclined towards Draco.

He flashed a toothy smile at his companions and gesticulated for the waiter in that obnoxious, posh manner which made him appear simultaneously in a hurry and incredibly bored. 

Hermione ground her teeth together. 

Yes. That tilt of the lip, that smugness radiating off his posture, the way he held his chin; it all seemed incredibly familiar to her. 

Hermione swallowed her drink. It felt like cotton wool on her tongue, but she didn’t care. In fact, she was so busy devising a plan that she even ignored the man edging onto the stool next to her. 

* * *

It was just past one when she ordered her first espresso. The James Bond-Wannabe was following a game at the blackjack table. He had one hand in his pocket and the other firmly wrapped around a crystal tumbler. He was frequently interrupted by a white-haired, chinless admirer who seemed very eager to wrap him into a conversation. She was wearing row upon row of pearls around her thick neck. 

Choking on her riches, Hermione thought, grimly. 

Now that she knew that he was a wizard, it was not difficult to spot everything that gave him away. His wandhand would ever so often twitch towards his opposite sleeve. He would also excuse himself roughly every hour or so. 

Her and Harry’s original idea seemed to be right; he was very likely Polyjuiced. To make his behaviour seem inconspicuous, he was imbibing ridiculous amounts of champagne and whiskey. Or maybe that was just the way he was. After all, his disguise was that of a bored, pompous toff in his mid-thirties, so that was certainly possible. 

He wore his black hair slicked back using criminal amounts of pomade; his dinner jacket was the sort of “understated” which, in actuality, advertised to the room at large that it couldn’t possibly be anything else _ but _ Savile Row. The way he had perfected the air of the blasé heir to old money made Hermione immediate think of Draco Malfoy. Or any other Pureblood, really, she amended in her mind.

The typical frenzy of over-the-top winnings had yet to occur, and she was pondering when she ought to join the tables to keep a closer eye on things, when he was getting up again and disentangling himself from his admirer who was letting out a wail of displeasure. A group of spoiled twenty-somethings turned their perfectly coiffed heads towards the commotion and jeered at the older woman before, quickly directing their attention back to the blackjack table. 

Hermione rapidly reviewed her options. She could continue the observation in the hopes of finding out just how he was swindling the casinos. On the other hand, there was no way of knowing if he would be coming back at all; and if he did, she might not be able to spot him again. She fiddled with the napkin on her lap. 

The wizard swaggered towards the large doors, nose in the air, not paying any mind to the numerous women who were throwing overtly sultry looks his way.

Hermione had to act quickly. Just before he disappeared out of the room, she drained her glass and jumped up. It was far better to confront him now and question him on the spot. There was too large a risk that he would get away otherwise.

Following at a safe distance, Hermione meandered through the clusters of people chatting merrily. He was walking towards the lavatory. With one hand, she fished through her bag for the phial kit, the empty cocktail glass in the other. When she reached the end of the corridor leading to the toilets, the night-black double doors leading to the men's had just swung shut. She positioned herself outside, casually leaning against the wall, overtly sifting through her purse. Her hand was firmly clasped around her cocktail glass, now containing _ Essence of Thief’s Downfall. _

Hermione didn't have to wait long. There was the sound of the water running and then of heels clicking on marble. Suddenly, the door was jerked open, and out strode the dark-haired man. Promptly, just as planned, Hermione stumbled into his arms, spilling the contents of her glass all over him in the process. 

‘Oh, I'm so sorry,’ she spluttered, her eyes fixed on his face — his face, which was first distorted by an annoyed sneer, and then suddenly started contorting, _literally contorting_. The black hair brightened, the mature lines of his face softened, until —

‘Malfoy.’ Her eyes raked over his barely changed frame. His hair, still slicked back, was blond, almost like it used to be at school, and his dress shirt was now drenched and clung to his chest revealing an inconveniently well-proportioned body. She recognised his scent with a sudden clarity: bergamot and amber. She ground her teeth. ‘I knew it. Using Muggles to your own advantage? It positively screams pure-blood hypocrisy.’ Her voice, at first a furious hiss, had grown louder and louder until it echoed from the walls.

Draco considered her briefly, mouth slightly agape before his eyes flickered to look past her. Hermione followed his glance; a server had paused at the end of the corridor. The man jumped into action and strutted away, but Draco was already pulling her further down the corridor and into another room. She found herself in a handsome chamber with tall ceiling that was lavishly decorated. Amongst the various mythical scenes on the intricately carved wood panelling, Hermione recognised Aphrodite and Ares in a passionate embrace.

She looked away and lifted her chin, crossing her arms in front of her chest, wand firmly in her hand. ‘What are you doing here, Malfoy?’

He had the audacity to smirk. ‘Gambling, of course.’ His hand at his side twitched.

Hermione watched him closely. ‘Alone? Without your entourage? No Nott, Zabini, Parkinson? Why not take advantage of the stupid Muggles to the full, ey?’ Her voice grew heated again.

‘_ Ah _ .’ He leaned slightly forward. ‘One must not give away too many secrets. It spoils all the fun, you know—’ His mouth was suddenly very close to her ear. ‘— _ Granger _.’ 

Hermione jumped a couple of steps back and pointed her wand at him.

‘How do you know who I am?!’

His eyes slid lazily over her body and her cheeks heated. ‘I'd recognise you anywhere.’ His low voice echoed in the tall room and Hermione had the distinct impression that, even though she was the one with a wand in hand, the power balance was to her disadvantage.

_ ‘Expelliarmus _!’ His hawthorn wand flitted out of its hiding place in his sleeve and into her waiting palm. She tucked it away into her bag, trying not to show her smugness.

Malfoy clicked his tongue, his bright eyes searching hers. ‘It seems I am at your mercy, Granger.’ His lips quivered and Hermione crossed her arms, suppressing the urge to hex him. Harry would have her for breakfast if she caused a bureaucratic catastrophe like that. 

Draco sank into one of the sofas and crossed his legs. ‘So. Now that you have me, what do you want to do to me?’ His eyes flashed like polished silver.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. It irked her that he appeared so thoroughly unfazed. ‘Not much, so there's no need to get comfortable. This'll be over quickly enough if you just tell me the truth. What are you really doing here, Malfoy?’ She watched him closely, all the while pointing her wand at him.

‘As I said.’ Her eyebrows were likely disappearing into her hairline by now. ‘Gambling, of course,’ he added, still grinning.

‘Of course.’ she said drily. ‘Because that's what the Muggle-hating, pure-blooded wizard does on a Friday night: he spends his past time amongst Muggles.’ 

‘Money does not stink, Granger.’

She hissed.

He waved his arm dismissively. ‘Oh, relax, will you? Good God, it was just a joke. Of course, I haven't got anything against Muggles.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘Or Muggle-borns for that matter. I mean— how could I?’ He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together, watching her intently. ‘Here you are, a child of Muggles and one of the most powerful and beautiful witches our country has ever seen.’

Hermione averted her gaze. She studied the lavish decorations, the delicate carvings, the putti playing in the wood, and ignored the heat spreading in her cheeks and throughout her body. 

‘I find that hard to believe. And even if it were true, you are violating the law. So, unfortunately, I've got to bring you in.’

Draco’s eyebrows rose, but he did not move from the sofa. ‘What exactly are you accusing me of? Gambling is not a crime, surely.’

She snorted. ‘Of course, we're not accusing you of gambling, no matter how ridiculous it may be.’ She bit her lip, torn about how to proceed. Here she had the wizard, finally, and one who was acting very suspiciously, too. However, she couldn’t seem to think of a reason to bring him in without causing a ruckus. It was like her brain was frozen.

  
Draco, who was still watching her closely, leaned forward. ‘We, as in the Ministry?’ He tapped a long finger against his lips. They curved into a smile. ‘The Ministry doesn't think I'm responsible for the huge casino losses, do they?’ Hermione clenched her jaw, and Draco barked out a laugh. ‘That's absolutely ridiculous! Muggles make that sort of money, too, you know.’

‘Obviously. That's why they're all so worried because it's all so very normal.’ 

Draco grinned. ‘Please, Granger. Winning at a casino is not hard at all if you follow a few basic rules.’

She snorted.

‘I’m entirely serious. Anyone could do it; you too. As a matter of fact,’ his eyes were glinting in the dimly lit room, ‘you _ should _try it.’ 

She pursed her lips. ‘I'm not throwing around money for no good reason.’

His grin grew wider. ‘Not even for research purposes?’

‘No,’ Hermione replied hotly. ‘That’s obscene.’

Draco barked out a laugh. ‘Must you be so dreadfully middle-class? Live a little, Granger, come on. Besides, it's all for a very good reason, isn’t it? You can see for yourself that I'm both perfectly right and perfectly innocent.’ He leaned back into the sofa and draped his hands along the back rest, contemplating her. 

Hermione glared at him, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. As soon as she found the wizard, it was supposed to be easy. 

She studied his relaxed expression, the way he seemed absolutely at ease despite the situation. His crossed legs bobbed up and down, and Hermione found herself evaluating how tall he was. His eyes caught hers. She looked away quickly when he shot her another roguish grin.

He wasn't supposed to be this distracting.

‘Whatever happened to that fabled Gryffindor bravery? What’s the harm in playing a little game?’ Malfoy was lounging leisurely in his seat and the movement made his still soaked dress-shirt tighten across his chest. It was an indecently firm and muscled chest. 

Hermione looked away and lifted her chin. If she didn’t have a reason to bring him in now, surely one would come up if she was patient enough. ‘I’m not gambling. But seeing as I have your wand, I suppose there’s no harm in shadowing you for the rest of the evening. You can get your wand back if you convince me that you’re innocent.’

‘Are you strongarming me, Granger?’ 

‘Just making sure you’re not disappearing with millions of quid.’

‘That doesn’t seem fair. Whatever happened to “in dubio pro reo”?’ 

‘I’m not in doubt.’

‘I beg to differ. If you were sure, we wouldn’t be having this fascinating little conversation.’ He raised his glass to his mouth, eyes glinting.

Hermione pursed her lips. She hated that he was right. She hated even more that she was in desperate need of a good plan, lest she throw away two weeks of painstaking research. But most of all, she hated that she was having entirely too much fun exchanging banter with him like this. 

‘Fine,’ she ground out, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. ‘So now what?’

He rose from the sofa and crossed the room, and Hermione realised that she had been right, he was indeed quite tall. So tall, in fact, that she suddenly felt extremely short of breath due to the way he was towering over her. How very silly.

‘Let’s make a little wager,’ he said, his voice slightly coarse, as he looked into her face. ‘If, by the end of the night, you realise that I’m not who you’re looking for, not only will you give me back my wand, you’ll also go out with me. That seems like adequate compensation for being harassed by the ministry.’ 

His grey eyes were boring into her, and Hermione’s head spun. Bergamot, that’s what she thought. Citrus and lavender. Drinking tea in a house in the country, in a field of purple flowers, lounging together in front of a cosy fire, stark naked... 

It must have been a lack of oxygen affecting her, or probably the alcohol, because, later on, Hermione would frequently wonder about her reaction.

‘All right,’ she said, jutting out her chin, which brought her mouth dangerously close to his. ‘That seems fair enough.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope I can post the chapter in time on the 29th. However, that day and the following I'm teaching a class at uni, which could mean that I _might_ be late. So if I am, please don't worry, I'll be posting the final chapter on Sunday, December 1, at the latest! In the meantime, if you crave a little more Investigator!Hermione, I'd recommend you read my murder mystery "Phial M for Murder," in which Hermione is a detective! If you're sick of all the UST, you should give my WIP "Sh-Shopping Spree" a go. Its current form leaves our protagonists at a satisfying moment, so no cliffhangers ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Shadowing Malfoy turned out to be a blessing and a curse. Even though he was now in his true form, he rapidly attracted the same female fan club. While these women were not at all bothered that their former object of fascination had disappeared, they did not, however, appreciate Hermione monopolising this man’s attention. 

And attention Draco Malfoy was showering her with. 

Whenever he placed a bet, he asked her for her opinion first. Reluctant to compromise her research, Hermione hesitated to indulge. But somehow, Draco always got what he wanted, and she ended up making a fair share of his bets for him. 

It might have been the champagne he kept supplying her with, but despite herself, she was starting to enjoy herself. Draco, too, seemed to be in exceedingly good spirits. Which was extremely odd, considering he wasn’t exactly doing that well on the betting front. 

‘I think I’m giving you bad luck,’ she said, frowning at the diminished stack of chips in front of them. If she was doing the maths correctly, he had lost a small fortune in the last hour alone. 

‘Don’t worry, Granger. You win some, you lose some.’ His eyes flashed in excitement, even though the croupier was clearing the table of a lot of chips, including all the ones Hermione had just placed for Draco.

Another round was announced and the punters started placing their bets.

Draco seemed deep in thought. He was fiddling expertly with a few chips in his hand, making it seem as if they were dancing across his fingers. ‘Oh Granger,’ he said, smiling secretly, ‘you wouldn’t mind getting the server for me, would you?’

Hermione looked at him in surprise, but then nodded and made her way over to the bar.

‘Just a second,’ he called after her, ‘what’s your lucky number?’

‘Forty-two,’ she called over her shoulder, grinning at the thought of “the answer to life, the universe, and everything.” 

When she returned, the croupier had just dropped the ball into the wheel. The other punters were crowding round the table, eyes fixed on the tiny white ball jumping over the ridges. It rattled and rattled until there was the familiar, all-deciding  _ click _ .

‘Forty-two red.’ The croupier wiped most of the chips from the table; one of the few exceptions was the bet Draco had made, based on Hermione’s recommendation. The stack that was pushed towards them dwarfed the one Draco had initially placed. By now, Hermione knew that a straight bet would get you thirty-five times the amount you had wagered.

‘That victory deserves an adequate celebration, don’t you agree?’ Draco’s eyes shone and he instructed the waiter that Hermione had called over to bring the entire table an outrageously expensive round of champagne. 

‘I can’t believe it, but I think I actually preferred you as a sulking schoolboy.’ Hermione shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as almost a dozen crystal glasses were filled with the drink. 

‘Oh really?’ 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze. Had his eyes always been so clear, so intense? Their expression was deeply unsettling. He lifted his glass his mouth and Hermione’s eyes slid to his lips. Although not particularly full, they were curved delicately. There was a certain elegance to them, particularly whenever he smiled at her. She found herself unable to look away. 

The people surrounding them were shuffling about to get a drink and Draco moved so close to her that their arms were almost touching. Despite the heat of the crowd, and the excitement, and probably a light buzz, a shiver rippled pleasantly down her spine. 

‘I can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid,’ Draco said. His eyes drifted over her form and lingered on the curve of her neck. He bowed down to her and another one of those shivers tingled over her skin as he talked into her ear. ‘I must say, I quite prefer your current incarnation,’ he said in a low voice.

Hermione swallowed with difficulty. Her throat felt like sandpaper. In one long sip, she finished her champagne and immediately felt that delightful, liberating sensation of being slightly tipsy. However, it made remembering her objective slightly more difficult. She wanted to get Draco alone, that was what she had set out to do, right?

She weighed her options. They weren't that great, really. Draco was right; as far as they knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Yet. So she was absolutely right to keep a close eye on him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, a little short of breath. ‘I see you’re keeping your promise?’

Draco raised an eyebrow in question. 

‘You know,’ Hermione said, averting her gaze for a second; he was far too good at making her blush, and she was not quite sure if she should be bothered by it, ‘to keep the compliments coming.’ 

She forced herself to look back at him. His eyes darkened. ‘Oh, I can assure you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I can keep going all night.’

This time the shiver was like electricity as it raced through her body and set her nerves on fire. To hide her embarrassment, she picked up another glass from the tray and tasted the champagne. It felt nice and silken on her palette. In fact, the drink made her feel light and fuzzy. Apparently, expensive wine was worth its price — another unbidden realisation of the evening.

Sensing Draco’s eyes on her, she scanned the room. Logically, there was no reason to be flustered. He had already admitted that he wanted to go on a date. Obviously, he was interested in her. 

But she was here for something else entirely. Something mysterious was going on, and she’d be damned if she didn’t get to the bottom of it. That her body reacted to him in the way it did was due to biology and probably alcohol.

‘What about the thing you’ve promised?’ he said, snapping her out of her musings.

‘And what would that be?’

‘To go home with me if I’m innocent!’ 

The breath caught in her throat. ‘I agreed to no such thing!’ 

‘Mmm.’ There was a glint in his eyes as they bored intently into hers. His lips curved into a slight smirk and, once again, Hermione seemed unable to look away from his mouth. ‘Must have been wishful thinking then.’

Despite herself, Hermione’s cheeks heated and, with some effort, she directed her attention away from Draco Malfoy and back to the gamblers. Even for a Friday evening, it was extremely crowded. Aside from those Hermione recognised as regulars, and those who would usually come in for a gamble after dinner,  there were a fair number of business people who seemed to be celebrating a done deal. There was a fair bit of shoving and elbowing to get one of the coveted spots directly at the roulette table. 

‘As far as I’m concerned,’ Hermione said firmly, defying the slight tremble in her voice, ‘I am not quite convinced you’re not precisely what I thought you were.’ 

‘And what would that be?’ 

‘A scoundrel.’ Hermione smirked and tried not to think too much of the fact that he had moved even closer to her. So close in fact, that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, and it made her pulse quicken. 

‘Oh, I’m definitely a scoundrel.’ He leaned down to whisper in her ear. His hand grazed her shoulder, and even this slightest of contacts made her feel feverish. ‘Just not in the way you think.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Hermione was getting a little irritated by how little it took for her focus to waver as his breath ghosted pleasantly across her neck. She wanted to ignore the heat spreading through her, spurred on by her out-of-control heart, so she concentrated on her observations. 

The woman with the pearls was sitting at the blackjack table. She, too, kept peering around, probably on the lookout for the handsome dark-haired stranger that had curiously disappeared over an hour ago. Her face distorted into a sneer as she spotted Hermione. The young women and their male counterparts had gone onto the terrace for a smoke. 

Aside from that, all seemed perfectly ordinary. It really was odd that there hadn’t been any suspicious behaviour yet. Hermione checked her watch. It was approaching two o’clock. Usually, the lucky streak would have started long ago.

Hermione suppressed a sigh of frustration. Here she was, having found the wizard, yet nothing had happened. Or maybe, she thought, and her nails clicked against the glass in her hand, maybe nothing was happening  _ because  _ she had found the wizard. 

That was a problem. 

Hermione reflected on her review sessions with Harry, taxing her brain for a solution. 

_ ‘We need to get closer to the action. It’s time that you went in for a gamble.’ _

Well, she was in the perfect position to do just that. 

* * *

‘Place your bets please.’

The crowd around the roulette table shuffled to get their chips onto their numbers. Without batting an eye, Hermione dropped a stack onto ‘red,’ another on the thirty-one, and a third on the corner of the zero and one.

Draco leaned down to her. ‘Am I wrong, or are your bets getting slightly risky?’ His breath tickled down her neck, and Hermione delighted in the shiver running down her spine.

‘Maybe I’m just starting to enjoy the game,’ she said, her voice rather breathless.

‘The game, or the company?’ His lips quivered slightly; he was hiding a grin.

Turning her head, Hermione met his gaze, and almost regretted it. His eyes really were a work of art; like polished marble, shining and dark. And then there was an almost hungry expression in them that made her breath hitch. ‘Definitely the game. The company’s rather tedious, actually,’ she said, also trying not to crack a smile, but never breaking eye-contact. Her heart was thrumming in her throat.

Draco barked out a laugh, and it dawned on Hermione that she really liked his voice. His tone was silken and smooth, and pleasantly deep. 

Sexy. That’s what it was if she was being completely honest. 

Unfortunately, this realisation and her growing and extremely inconvenient attraction to him made her current situation all the more complicated. She was no closer to finding out how he did it. She was a hundred percent positive that he was somehow responsible for the heists, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. 

Since she had joined the tables, he had continued to bleed chips. That might have been the reason why he seemed disinclined to bet altogether. Instead, he appeared far more interested in derailing her sanity either by standing entirely too close to her, or finding ridiculous reasons to touch her, or, generally speaking, by behaving in a manner that she’d usually have classified as extreme flirting.

It was driving her absolutely batty, and Hermione relished every second of it. It was at least a tiny compensation for the other annoying fact of the evening: namely that, as of yet, there had been no lucky streak. It defied all her research, and that Hermione did not appreciate.

‘Doesn’t this get tired?’ 

Malfoy lazily threw a couple of chips onto the table and instructed the croupier where to place them. ‘I suppose this night is not the most exciting one in terms of winning. On the other hand,’ he said, looking directly into her eyes, ‘entertainment can be had in lots of different ways.’

‘Mmmm,’ Hermione said, weighing her head and pushing aside how his intent, obsidian stares made her body vibrate, ‘I’d rather not be the source of your entertainment. Sounds rather dangerous.’

‘S’not very Gryffindor of you, is it?’ He leaned down to her and whispered into her ear. ‘Besides, I can hardly think of anyone who would be more stimulating company than you are,  _ Hermione _ .’ 

‘Don’t be crass,  _ Draco _ .’ 

He grinned roguishly. ‘Fortune favours the bold.’

Heat spread through her veins, and Hermione shook her head, biting down a smile. She scanned the gambling floor. 

A blonde woman with a fox fur, whom  she recognised as Draco's companion from a few evenings ago, was standing on the other side of the blackjack table and was throwing vicious glances Hermione’s way. Turning up her nose, the woman tossed a stack of chips onto the table with such a force that they almost hit the croupier. 

‘Well, at least some people are enjoying the gambling.’ She frowned at her own dwindling pile of chips. If the winning streak didn’t start soon, she’d have to put down yet another handsome sum. ‘But I do see why one would need magic to win anything. This is ridiculous.’

Draco laughed. ‘Nice try, Granger, but you really don’t need magic to win.’

‘Please. You usually leave with an unhealthy win. And look how awfully you’re doing now.’ Hermione put her glass to her lips and fixed Draco with a knowing look. ‘There is no other explanation. I know it.’

His bright eyes were gleaming. ‘Oh, but there is.’

‘Pish.’

‘That’s because you don’t know the golden rule of gambling.’

‘Which is?’

He had the audacity to smirk. ‘Why don’t you try and find out for yourself?’ he murmured into her ear.

Hermione lifted her chin, ignoring the venomous stares of a few other people and the way her dress seemed to have suddenly become awfully constricting. ‘Rubbish. There’s no such thing as a “method” to gambling. There can’t be. That would be oxymoronic.’ 

‘If you say so.’ Draco righted his posture and looked around the room, awfully pleased with himself. 

Hermione frowned. Though she thoroughly enjoyed the flirting and his overall appeal, none of this made her appreciate nonsense. Because that's what it was: gambling was pure luck and nothing else. 

On the other hand, hadn’t she been looking for an opportunity to bring him into the D.M.L.E.? Suddenly an opportunity presented itself. What luck!

‘Alright then,’ she said, leaning closer to him; her body thrummed with the nearness of him. ‘Why don’t we make a bet out of it?’ 

‘I’m listening.’ 

‘If I can find out your secret, you’ll accompany me to the D.M.L.E.’ Hermione already tasted the victory on her tongue. There was no logical explanation; magic was the only remaining answer. ‘If I can’t, then…’ she paused and looked at him, expecting him to set a wager. 

Even in the twilight of the room, his eyes were bright and shining, and it suddenly dawned on Hermione that she might have grossly miscalculated. 

Draco smirked and Hermione felt it in her bones. ‘If you don’t discover the golden rule of gambling, you’ll come home with me!’

* * *

‘Have you figured it out yet?’ 

Hermione suppressed a grimace. She hadn't. She’d been watching him like a hawk, with no success. Aside from the fact that she kept picturing him with less and less clothes, she noted that, generally speaking, he did win more often than he lost, though it was nothing out of the ordinary and barely mentionable in contrast to other high-rollers. Reluctant to tell him so, she picked up one of the glasses the server had just brought and fixed her eyes on the roulette table in front of them. 

‘Possibly.’

‘You haven’t!’ 

She could practically feel the elation radiating off him, and it was hard not to get infected with it. Although the apparent lack of magic was a let-down for her mission, the Ministry, and Number 10, on a personal level, this development was actually fantastic. 

No magic meant Draco wasn’t responsible for  _ Le Grand Casino Debacle  _ after all, which also meant any obstacles between her and... whatever his touches and hints had been advertising all night were removed. 

But she was not quite finished, and she couldn’t leave the tables in good conscience without evidence that Draco was not, in fact, involved. How could she face Harry on Monday, if he, reviewing her memories, realised that she hadn’t done her best to fulfil her mission because of being emotionally involved with the prime suspect?

Hermione blushed at the mere thought of such embarrassment. She kept scanning the room for something that might be helpful.

Despite the late hour, there were still a fair number of people around, though the excitement that usually thrummed through the rooms was drastically subdued. Considering the less than average night on the betting front, that was no real surprise.

There was a brief pause at the roulette table as, once again, the croupiers changed. Someone had ordered another round of expensive champagne for the table, and the remaining punters clustered around the server to replenish their drinks. The older woman with the pearls shoved her none-too-gently aside, and Hermione vacated her spot. A glance to her wristwatch confirmed it was approaching half-past three. The reasons for remaining any longer at  _ Les A _ were dwindling, as was Hermione’s motivation.

Suddenly, Draco was behind her, leaning into her; he was so close that she could almost taste the heat radiating off his skin and the swagger in his posture. ‘Shall I tell you my secret then?’ 

‘Rien ne va plus. No more bets, please.’ 

Hermione heard the ball clattering over the ridges in the roulette wheel, as it spun round and round. She looked at Draco. Like her, he hadn’t bothered to make a bet. Maybe it  _ was  _ time to go. So instead of an answer, she raised an eyebrow, challenging him to tell the truth.

A throaty chuckle escaped him and he moved even closer. His lips were grazing her ear, and Hermione concentrated on what the croupier was saying to the punters. She didn’t hear a word; there was only the air moving and her skin bristling and the tension between both their bodies vibrating with what he was about to say. His lips were so very close. ‘Always quit while you’re ahead.’ The revelation sent a shiver down her spine. 

Draco straightened his back and all of a sudden she felt the absence of his closeness as if a blanket had been pulled from her body, or like a curtain that had been drawn to unveil a starry night. 

‘I think,’ he said, ‘I get to take you home now.’

Hermione opened her mouth to protest.

‘Uh-uh! You mustn't violate the terms of our agreement.’

Hermione glanced back at the Roulette table. The punters — both the regulars and the weekend crowd — were staring miserably at the croupier who was merrily sweeping stacks upon stacks of chips into the pockets. It was obvious that a fair number of them had expected to profit from  _ Le grand casino debacle. _ With no luck having materialised, there was no point in staying, really. And then there was the small detail of Draco Malfoy having draped his arm around her waist, whilst looking into her eyes with a burning intensity that made her heart race. 

‘All right,’ she said and Draco, looking for a second as if struck by lightning, leaned down. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest.

‘Oh Granger, you’ve made me the luckiest man alive.’ He pulled her into her arms and, as quickly as she permitted him to, led her out of  _ Les A _ and into the starry night.

* * *

It was almost pitch dark when she awoke. There was only the blue moonlight streaming in through the open windows. 

The blanket bunched around her was so soft that she was almost tempted to go back to sleep, but the pale arm draped around her midriff reminded her that she probably ought to go.

Slowly, carefully, she edged out of the large bed, anxious not to rouse the sleeping man next to her. She had successfully swung her legs over the edge when a rough voice sounded through the pitch dark.

‘And where do you think you're going?’

In a flurry of movement, Draco had snaked his hand around her and pulled her back into bed, flush against his very manly and very naked form.

‘You're not leaving me already, are you?’ he said and started nipping and kissing along her shoulders.

‘I have to go, Draco. ’

‘Oh?’ His soft lips travelled along her neck, and a fire rekindled low in her belly. ‘Have an appointment, have you?’

‘Well…’ 

‘Come on, Granger.’ His lips brushed against her shoulder blades. ‘You're not tired of this already?’

‘Not exactly but—’

‘And you haven't got anywhere to be at—’ there was a pause, ‘half five in the morning?’

‘No but—’

‘You're not running away, are you?’ His voice had lost its sleepy gruffness.

For a moment, Hermione was truly lost for words. She  _ didn't  _ have anywhere to be. To be precise, it was the weekend, so she was strictly forbidden to work, as per Ginny’s orders. For now, she had to be content that the “Draco Malfoy” line of inquiry had been soundly rejected as a dud.

Draco must have sensed her indecisiveness. He pressed himself up against her back and Hermione could clearly  _ feel  _ the biggest argument he was making for her to stay in bed.

She sighed, delighted at the promise he was making.

‘Come on, Granger.’ His breath and lips caressed the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her back. ‘All I need is a chance.’

‘What will you do with that chance, I wonder?’ she said as he kissed his way down her spine. 

She felt his mouth against the base of her spine and Hermione felt his tenderness in her bones. ‘I’m in it to win it, of course.’

She inhaled deeply, throwing rationality and caution to the win. Sometimes, you had to take a risk in order to win. 

‘Alright then.’ Her words trailed off into a sigh as his mouth wandered lower and lower, stripping away the last of her objections. ‘But no cheating.’

‘I would never,’ he said firmly and he devoured her with a kiss that made Hermione forget why on earth she had ever protested against this in the first place.

* * *

As Draco Malfoy proceeded to make love to Hermione Granger in every way he could think of, feeling the silk of her skin he had long wanted to touch, he pushed the thought of the almost completed batch of Felix Felicis, that was currently bubbling away in his spare room, to the back of his mind. He would find another use for it. For starters, he would need to make sure that Granger didn’t run away. 

‘I’m the maker of my own fortune,’ he whispered, as she shivered and squirmed in his arms, and Draco anchored himself deep within her, over and over and over again, until they forgot all about what had brought them together in the first place. 

*

The new week found Hermione, once again, exceptionally tired, though for an altogether different reason this time. 

The Friday night escapade  –  which had been a Saturday morning escapade, really  –  had evolved into a Saturday morning lie-in and then into a late breakfast, lunch, and dinner-in-bed, in order to sustain the almost hour-long romps. 

Draco must have really shagged her brains out because it wasn’t until Sunday that it dawned on her that she'd have to give some sort of explanation for her failed mission. 

Looking back, it became painfully obvious that the potions expert, Draco Malfoy. had made good use of his skills to tweak his luck. Felix Felicis was the solution, so to speak.

Sitting in her office, bright and early on Monday morning, she was terrified of her meeting with Harry. It developed into a full-fledged panic when a note fluttered onto her desk, requesting that she see him as soon as possible.

This sent Hermione into a frenzy, and she spent a good three hours combing through the material for any proof that Draco was responsible, all the while agonising over the likelihood that she'd have to charge the man she was falling in love with, with fraud.

The analysis of last week’s memories led to several discoveries. First, Hermione managed to uncover all his Muggle aliases; second, Draco had started to observe  _ her,  _ a few days before she had even managed to detect him; third, the way in which he had been watching her was almost possessive. Fourth, the Lucky Hour always started with a round of champagne. The Muggles who, through said champagne, had likely imbibed small doses of the lucky potion as well, acted as mere decoys.

What she was not able to find, however, was the precise moment Draco had dosed the punters with Felix Felicis. 

At the end of her revisions, Hermione was shocked by a final realisation: if she had done the maths correctly, Draco had gotten away with somewhere between forty-five and fifty million pounds. 

It was almost noon by the time Hermione had worked up the courage to drag herself to level two and confess to the debacle of Friday night (and Saturday morning, afternoon, and evening). She was beckoned into the office of the Head Auror by an oddly cheerful Harry.

‘Finally!’ he said, glancing at his wristwatch. ‘I don’t have… nevermind. Come in, I have great news.’

Hermione slowly sank into the guest chair, her heart in her throat.

‘You’ll never guess!’ Harry said, beaming like a ray of sunshine. ‘The investigation is off!’ He continued to explain to a completely dumbfounded Hermione that Kingsley had, all of a sudden, considered the investigation to be a waste of time and resources. ‘It would seem the tide has turned. Look!’ 

He threw the morning papers onto the desk between them. The bright letters spelt out the headline of the day: **_“Mystery Man Donates Fortune to NHS and National Education Endowment.”_ **

Incredulous, Hermione peered at Harry. ‘But this isn’t…’

‘It is!’

‘Oh my god! How much?’

‘A little more over ten million quid each.’

‘Wow.’ Hermione didn’t know what else to say. Apparently, she had spent the last few hours panicking over nothing. Nobody would be interested in her hypothesis now, not to mention the debacle of Friday night, that, in this new light, looked increasingly less like a mistake and more like an extremely fortuitous event.

‘Yeah,’ Harry nodded, ‘and that’s only half the story. Kingsley also admitted that several of our own departments have received anonymous donations. The D.M.L.E. amongst them. And you’ll be happy to hear that H.E.L.P. and C.O.N.F.E.S.S. were also amongst those who were favoured. Isn’t that great?’

‘H.E.L.P. and C.O.N.F.E.S.S. What a happy coincidence,’ Hermione mumbled, unsure of how to react, her thoughts revolving around Draco and what she should ask him, or if she should ask him anything at all, or rather take the situation as it was: a very fortunate event. 

‘Anyway,’ Harry continued brightly, rubbing his hands, ‘that means you, and I, can finally return to more important matters.’ 

'Right.' The load that fell off Hermione’s mind must have weighed several tons. She leaned back into the chair and sighed.

'Right,' he grinned, 'So, how—’

There was a sharp rap on the door which was then energetically pushed open. In strode Draco Malfoy, a stack of parchments tucked under his arm. ‘Potter, we’re—  _ oh _ .’ His eyes found Hermione’s and, almost instantly, his gaze darkened. Hermione blushed and looked away, directly into Harry’s green eyes, which were glinting mischievously. 

‘—how was your weekend?'

_ fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, everyone! I saw that quite a few guessed correctly - very well done! If you want to put your detective skills to the test, I'd suggest you read my Dramione Murder Mystery _Phial M for Murder._ That should be slightly more complicated. 🙈  
I had so much fun writing this, particularly the banter and the UST. I know a fair few will be slightly disappointed (or at least surprised) by the rather tame smut in this one, so if you need a little more porn with the plot, go read _XXXXII, or the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything_ (a lot of fluffy hardcore smut). 😗  
As to what's next: I hope I can get my Leonardo da Vinci Dramione out soon (before the anniversary year ends), but I'm mainly focusing on finishing my WIPs, particularly _Sh-Shopping Spree_. So catch me there, or on tumblr and twitter. See you soon! Lynx x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd be delighted to know what you think of it! Also, come say hi on twitter [(@TheLastLynX)](https://twitter.com/TheLastLynX) or tumblr [(@TheLastLynx)](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thelastlynx) if you would :) Cheers, Lynx


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